Though I always felt Poe's "Raven" had passed too far into generic old school spook to really become frightening on a modern Halloween, sometime in the last decade or so one man came along and changed that forever. Now I think this reading has become one of my favorite Halloween traditions.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Creepingly familiar
Down the street from here there is a... something. Art show, maybe. With spooky music playing for all the children wandering around downtown reno trick or treating from various shops. Sure, they are mostly with adult supervision, but still, downtown reno? Kids? Haunted houses in back alleys near a river? That river is going to be littered with broken princess crowns, tiny little butterfly wings, and pirate hats in the morning with parents searching in vain for tiny lost fairies and frankenstein monsters. Maybe its just that I dislike having to cross the street to get around crowds of people standing on the street while children run in and out of bars while the parents laugh with each other under the neon-sign lit sky that is reno at night.
I used to like halloween. I was never that great at dressing up. Now I feel like I'm in costume everywhere I go. Tonight walking through the throngs of children I took stock of my appearance. Carrying a togo container of chinese food, a satchel full of books on writing, notebooks, and a laptop, run down clothes and a look of ever increasing annoyance on my face I see myself as just a stereotype. A walking cliche of what a want to be writer who is trying to be hip and irreverent while simultaneously avoiding all human contact. Not really what I was hoping for in this life. But it will have to do for now.
On an unrelated note, I've spent a year getting the same criticism from nearly every girl I've met. If I had been dating on eBay my profile would probably be gathering replies such as "C-, Not sure what the hell he is doing. Lacking confidence. Not as funny as he thinks he is. Would not buy again." I'm starting to get slightly annoyed. Problematic for me is the fact that when I do meet that rare girl I feel I have enough of a connection to to attempt something as alien and grotesque as a date with I tend to get my hopes up. Far too up. Which of course makes even the smallest failure dwindle my mood down to a dull roar of self-pity and anger that I soon find myself far too drunk to notice.
In the past I would spend a good week wondering what I did wrong and what I could do better in the future. I have since come to terms with the sad realization that it no longer matters if I can identify exactly what I did wrong (probably shouldn't have mentioned that I blew all my money on hookers the night before and that is why I can't pay for dinner) it will be useless information, as I will continue to make the same mistake time and time again. Ben Franklin's infamous adage of how to tell insanity from sanity by "attempting the same thing again and again with different results" prances through my head. I tend to ignore it, however, and just keep carrying on. I've drank the same type of soda since I was five. Smoke the exact same brand of cigarettes everyday that I have smoked for six years. Go to the same restaurants, dress in the same clothes, write about the same things, watch the same things, read the same things. Spend time with the same people I've known for years, play the same games with them, talk about the same trivial matters time and time again. As I write this I get the sinking sensation I've written this all before. I probably have. I am a creature of pure habit. And I'm not going to change. Certainly not to appease some half-baked notions of what should happen on a first date built into the heads of any girl I've ever met. Not even if I wanted to, which admittedly sometimes I do.
Despite having been in a sour mood, especially in this past week, today finally felt like a good day. Last week I had enough endorphins in my head that I was actually engaging in small talk and joking around with random people I came into contact with. Then it all came crashing down and down, and somehow I'm back to where I like to be. Comfortably in the middle. Somewhere between jackass and gentleman. Caring and uncaring. Out of touch with anything that doesn't appeal to me and totally focused on a singular goal. A beautiful world where I exist as an outsider even to myself. I sit now in my tiny apartment and smoke and drink soda and look forward to watching the Daily Show and I can't imagine a life much more fulfilling than this ever coming to me, and I am perfectly happy with that.
I used to like halloween. I was never that great at dressing up. Now I feel like I'm in costume everywhere I go. Tonight walking through the throngs of children I took stock of my appearance. Carrying a togo container of chinese food, a satchel full of books on writing, notebooks, and a laptop, run down clothes and a look of ever increasing annoyance on my face I see myself as just a stereotype. A walking cliche of what a want to be writer who is trying to be hip and irreverent while simultaneously avoiding all human contact. Not really what I was hoping for in this life. But it will have to do for now.
On an unrelated note, I've spent a year getting the same criticism from nearly every girl I've met. If I had been dating on eBay my profile would probably be gathering replies such as "C-, Not sure what the hell he is doing. Lacking confidence. Not as funny as he thinks he is. Would not buy again." I'm starting to get slightly annoyed. Problematic for me is the fact that when I do meet that rare girl I feel I have enough of a connection to to attempt something as alien and grotesque as a date with I tend to get my hopes up. Far too up. Which of course makes even the smallest failure dwindle my mood down to a dull roar of self-pity and anger that I soon find myself far too drunk to notice.
In the past I would spend a good week wondering what I did wrong and what I could do better in the future. I have since come to terms with the sad realization that it no longer matters if I can identify exactly what I did wrong (probably shouldn't have mentioned that I blew all my money on hookers the night before and that is why I can't pay for dinner) it will be useless information, as I will continue to make the same mistake time and time again. Ben Franklin's infamous adage of how to tell insanity from sanity by "attempting the same thing again and again with different results" prances through my head. I tend to ignore it, however, and just keep carrying on. I've drank the same type of soda since I was five. Smoke the exact same brand of cigarettes everyday that I have smoked for six years. Go to the same restaurants, dress in the same clothes, write about the same things, watch the same things, read the same things. Spend time with the same people I've known for years, play the same games with them, talk about the same trivial matters time and time again. As I write this I get the sinking sensation I've written this all before. I probably have. I am a creature of pure habit. And I'm not going to change. Certainly not to appease some half-baked notions of what should happen on a first date built into the heads of any girl I've ever met. Not even if I wanted to, which admittedly sometimes I do.
Despite having been in a sour mood, especially in this past week, today finally felt like a good day. Last week I had enough endorphins in my head that I was actually engaging in small talk and joking around with random people I came into contact with. Then it all came crashing down and down, and somehow I'm back to where I like to be. Comfortably in the middle. Somewhere between jackass and gentleman. Caring and uncaring. Out of touch with anything that doesn't appeal to me and totally focused on a singular goal. A beautiful world where I exist as an outsider even to myself. I sit now in my tiny apartment and smoke and drink soda and look forward to watching the Daily Show and I can't imagine a life much more fulfilling than this ever coming to me, and I am perfectly happy with that.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Obambulate while writing a palinode.
I love foreign countries. Mostly because they don't really have to give a shit about international copy-write law. Well, at least in the 80s they didn't.
I love his power of turning himself and anything he touches moderately transparent during flight. Quite an elaborate cloaking device for a guy with a three foot 'S' on his chest and two feet worth of hair on his head.
And if you think that a superman rip-off from the 80s has no bearing on todays world, then you obviously haven't seen this:
Between the hair, the dancing, the cheesy green screen and the music I'd say Andy Sandberg's life has been profoundly impacted by indian superman and indian lois lane/spiderwoman.
Post Script: Normally I have a pretty strict rule about making sure that the title of each blog entry (A) has nothing to do with anything and (B) is never, ever explained for any reason. I have no idea why I came up with that rule. Thank your lucky stars, then, for today is a rare exception as I provide a link to explain.
I love his power of turning himself and anything he touches moderately transparent during flight. Quite an elaborate cloaking device for a guy with a three foot 'S' on his chest and two feet worth of hair on his head.
And if you think that a superman rip-off from the 80s has no bearing on todays world, then you obviously haven't seen this:
Between the hair, the dancing, the cheesy green screen and the music I'd say Andy Sandberg's life has been profoundly impacted by indian superman and indian lois lane/spiderwoman.
Post Script: Normally I have a pretty strict rule about making sure that the title of each blog entry (A) has nothing to do with anything and (B) is never, ever explained for any reason. I have no idea why I came up with that rule. Thank your lucky stars, then, for today is a rare exception as I provide a link to explain.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Potato Marmalade
I haven't seriously written anything in the last few months. I need something fresh. Something that pops. Something that says to people I want to admit me into grad school that I am the next *insert name of their favorite author.* I also need something that doesn't use the word 'fresh' or 'pops' in it, as I don't want it set in the fifties.
I had a lot of fun writing those little short stories from those random ideas people gave me on here a few months back, so if anyone wants to throw out some more ideas I'd definately be interested. I have a lack of faith in my writing as of late, I think the reason I enjoyed writing those was because there wasn't anything riding on them. They were just for this blog and as such it didn't matter how good they came out. But when there is a lot riding on them I just don't trust my instincts on what I'm writing.
I've just been floating around a lot lately. I haven't gotten much done. Job hunting is a pain in the ass. But my jobs of late have been like bad relationships. I go in knowing its not going to last, I stay around until I just can't stand it anymore, then I break up suddenly with it. I get antsy easily. I have trouble staying in one spot for very long. The problem now is that its hurting my chances of getting other jobs. My resume reads like an ad for A.D.D., proof that I won't stick around in any job for more than a couple of months.
I've been thinking its probably time for me to get a serious girlfriend. But then I think that I'm not sure I'm really ready for any sort of actual commitment. I contemplated this the other night and realized I don't think I could handle the level of commitment needed to take care of a goldfish right now. Granted with a human I wouldn't have to take care of her so much as I would a pet, but still, we are talking hours a day devoted to spending time with another human. Hours at least. Maybe whole days. Though it would be nice to have some constant companionship, I can't help but think I would go insane being around someone else that often. Its just such a foreign concept to me. Then again it is possible that I've gone insane without that and I need that to go in the other direction, but that is a completely unproven theory at this point.
I don't know what the hell I'm talking about anymore so this is the end.
I had a lot of fun writing those little short stories from those random ideas people gave me on here a few months back, so if anyone wants to throw out some more ideas I'd definately be interested. I have a lack of faith in my writing as of late, I think the reason I enjoyed writing those was because there wasn't anything riding on them. They were just for this blog and as such it didn't matter how good they came out. But when there is a lot riding on them I just don't trust my instincts on what I'm writing.
I've just been floating around a lot lately. I haven't gotten much done. Job hunting is a pain in the ass. But my jobs of late have been like bad relationships. I go in knowing its not going to last, I stay around until I just can't stand it anymore, then I break up suddenly with it. I get antsy easily. I have trouble staying in one spot for very long. The problem now is that its hurting my chances of getting other jobs. My resume reads like an ad for A.D.D., proof that I won't stick around in any job for more than a couple of months.
I've been thinking its probably time for me to get a serious girlfriend. But then I think that I'm not sure I'm really ready for any sort of actual commitment. I contemplated this the other night and realized I don't think I could handle the level of commitment needed to take care of a goldfish right now. Granted with a human I wouldn't have to take care of her so much as I would a pet, but still, we are talking hours a day devoted to spending time with another human. Hours at least. Maybe whole days. Though it would be nice to have some constant companionship, I can't help but think I would go insane being around someone else that often. Its just such a foreign concept to me. Then again it is possible that I've gone insane without that and I need that to go in the other direction, but that is a completely unproven theory at this point.
I don't know what the hell I'm talking about anymore so this is the end.
Monday, October 06, 2008
A Lame Turducken
The last couple of weeks have been forcing me to think about my immediate future. What I've realized is that I am actually quite unskilled at forecasting my own future. But today is/was a turning point. Basically a decision was made for me. So now I am sitting in a coffee shop waiting for it to be a few minutes later so that I can take care of everything that needs to be taken care of today.
I hit a breaking point at the house I'm living in and I have to get the fuck out of there. Like now, dude. It only took me about an hour worth of work to pack everything up. I like that sort of flexibility in a place I'm staying sometimes, especially when it comes to a point wherein I need to get the fuck out. Had I been so motivated I could be strapping my mattress to my roof and throwing my comfy chair into the back of my Rav right now and be completely moved out of that place. That would have required me to have already driven to and from Fallon in the past three hours, but I could have done it and had all my stuff safely in storage out there and have been left with a duffel bag and a couple of books and my computer and been floating around homelessly right now. Well, okay, in like an hour I could have been floating around homelessly.
Unfortunately this move is going to create a chain-reaction that is going to change what has been my life for the last couple of months completely. But whatever. I'm young and impetuous and foolhardy. I'm also sort of backed up against a wall and I've got to lunge at my attacker, in this case an unlivable living situation.
My basic plan right now is to not be out of Reno for more than a couple of weeks. I've been needing to take a sort of 'work vacation' and go somewhere and work on some writing so I can start to apply for grad school. Granted, I wouldn't really need to go anywhere to do this, I just need some spare time to do it. I just can't seem to write much when I'm working an actual job. I think its because for me writing is sort of an all day/all week process. Starting early in the morning, requiring driving, walking, sitting, occasionally blogging. Usually ending a day, regardless of if it was a successful day of writing, with a fairly respectable amount of alcohol. And then waking up and starting all over again. It just isn't something I can really do when I'm working 40 hours a week. I need about 50% of the time I spend working a day spent on an activity that requires no thought, so usually TV. So you take the eight hours plus the four hours of tv plus eight for sleep and it leaves me with four hours to write, an hour of which is spent on getting ready for work, and hour spent on eating, and probably close to two dicking around. Which leaves me with zero hours. That was probably something that needn't have been described so thoroughly, in which case the wasted time I spent writing it just goes to prove how much time I do need for that dicking around part of the day.
It is now time to get on with things for the rest of the day. I'll try to make sure I keep everyone in the loop as to what is going on with me over the next month or so, but I don't know that I am done with Reno just yet.
I hit a breaking point at the house I'm living in and I have to get the fuck out of there. Like now, dude. It only took me about an hour worth of work to pack everything up. I like that sort of flexibility in a place I'm staying sometimes, especially when it comes to a point wherein I need to get the fuck out. Had I been so motivated I could be strapping my mattress to my roof and throwing my comfy chair into the back of my Rav right now and be completely moved out of that place. That would have required me to have already driven to and from Fallon in the past three hours, but I could have done it and had all my stuff safely in storage out there and have been left with a duffel bag and a couple of books and my computer and been floating around homelessly right now. Well, okay, in like an hour I could have been floating around homelessly.
Unfortunately this move is going to create a chain-reaction that is going to change what has been my life for the last couple of months completely. But whatever. I'm young and impetuous and foolhardy. I'm also sort of backed up against a wall and I've got to lunge at my attacker, in this case an unlivable living situation.
My basic plan right now is to not be out of Reno for more than a couple of weeks. I've been needing to take a sort of 'work vacation' and go somewhere and work on some writing so I can start to apply for grad school. Granted, I wouldn't really need to go anywhere to do this, I just need some spare time to do it. I just can't seem to write much when I'm working an actual job. I think its because for me writing is sort of an all day/all week process. Starting early in the morning, requiring driving, walking, sitting, occasionally blogging. Usually ending a day, regardless of if it was a successful day of writing, with a fairly respectable amount of alcohol. And then waking up and starting all over again. It just isn't something I can really do when I'm working 40 hours a week. I need about 50% of the time I spend working a day spent on an activity that requires no thought, so usually TV. So you take the eight hours plus the four hours of tv plus eight for sleep and it leaves me with four hours to write, an hour of which is spent on getting ready for work, and hour spent on eating, and probably close to two dicking around. Which leaves me with zero hours. That was probably something that needn't have been described so thoroughly, in which case the wasted time I spent writing it just goes to prove how much time I do need for that dicking around part of the day.
It is now time to get on with things for the rest of the day. I'll try to make sure I keep everyone in the loop as to what is going on with me over the next month or so, but I don't know that I am done with Reno just yet.
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